We all knew this day would come, but now it seems so sudden . . .
Ethel Ohlin Bradford April 16, 1917 – November 21, 2017
Ethel recently had a health set back and after a few days in a care facility, she has left us to join the majority in the next room. In our mortal world, a giant vacuum now looms where she stood, but we know she is on the good path, and watches over us now with joy. Here are some of her words, written in preparation for this day.
My childhood was spent on a small Murray farm and there was no way for me to know how blessed I was. I had freedom to roam and two favorite sites remain in my memory. One, being high in a backyard tree, ensconced with apples, raisins and books; and the second, out in the cool, shady cornfield with the same trio of companions.
Life was good in those cool, private retreats where body, mind and spirit were nourished, and I mourn that children today have no such places to explore.
My teen years were the time of The Great Depression, when there was no money, clothes hand-me-downs, and our meals almost entirely home-grown. I wouldn’t wish such experiences on anyone, but my generation survived, and were strong enough to man the Armed Forces and triumph in WW 2.
My first job was as a Comptometer Operator in the Payroll Dept. of Mountain States Telephone and Telegraph, which covered Utah, Idaho, Montana, and parts of Nevada.
My husband was employed by the U.S.A. during WW2, at Hanford, Washington, and unknowingly helped build the Atomic Bomb.
We returned to Murray at War’s end, and I worked for James “Jim” and Bette Cornwell at the Murray Eagle newspaper, became Women’s Editor of their “Green Sheets”; Columnist (Out My Window); and feature writer.
Friends were scattered around the world, and though many have died, I remain in touch with others. for email has made the world a village.
Metaphysics became a large part of my life, and wrote, lectured at classes and seminars throughout Utah, including the UofU, taught classes at Utah State Prison, was a witness at the Bishop execution, and counseled many on a one-to-one basis.
With Beverly Wheeler Mastrim’s art, and my words, we created the book, “The Sunset of the Farmer”. There are few still alive who experienced that life, and so, before it became only hearsay, we told in words and pictures how this valley once was.
Other books of mine are: “Our Road”, (tales of the people of the Taylorsville-Murray-Holladay Road); “Murray, A Tale of Two Cities”; “Our Road II; and “Extra Innings”. Others always in the making.
And now I’m stepping into unfamiliar territory and shiver, but know I’m on an eternal Pathway that leads me back to The Source, and rejoice to know that, as Fellow Travelers, we’ll meet somewhere along The Way, and know each other again.
Ethel Ohlin Bradford